Guilds and Glamour

Hello, how much for a night?"

The innkeeper, a pleasant-looking woman named Matilda, looked him up and down, then smiled.

"For you, dear? Twenty-five bronze a night. And I'll throw in breakfast, free of charge. What do you say?"

Charles did a quick calculation. He had five small gold coins. One gold was worth ten silvers, and each silver a hundred bronze. He could afford to stay for quite a while.

"All right. Give me a room for a week."

He handed her two silvers and gave a slight wave to show she could keep the rest. He remembered what Orsen used to say: "Be generous the first time. People remember, and it'll earn you favors."

Matilda's grin widened. "Thanks, sweetie. For that, I'll throw in dinner too. Starts in about an hour. Just sit anywhere downstairs when you're ready. Your room's on the first floor—second door on the left."

Orsen, you wise old bastard. Wish you were here.

Charles nodded, took the key, and headed to his room. It was simple but clean—just a single bed with fresh white sheets, a small wooden table and two chairs, and a washbasin with a cracked but clear mirror.

He stripped off his worn clothes and tried to scrub the worst of the dirt from his body. It helped, but not by much. He'd need new clothes soon—and a proper bathhouse. Still, dinner first.

He grabbed his belongings and went back downstairs.

The common room had filled up in the short time he'd been gone. Mostly humans, with a few dwarves scattered here and there, and two elves talking quietly in the far corner.

He found a free table and sat down. Before long, a young, cheerful-looking girl approached with a bright smile. She introduced herself as Miranda, clearly already briefed by Matilda.

She looked to be around twenty, small in stature but full of youthful charm. Her wavy blond hair caught the lantern light as she gave a playful toss of her head. Her blue eyes sparkled as she smiled, and Charles couldn't help but notice how tightly her dress hugged her figure.

Yes, I think I'll like this city.

When she returned with his order, maybe he'd slip her a few extra coins. Might earn him another smile.

He ordered a steak with bread and pickled vegetables on the side, and a mug of the inn's house-brewed beer.

The food didn't take long to arrive, but Charles was mildly disappointed when, instead of the charming Miranda, Clovis a large, one-handed man with a face like carved stone appeared at his table. He balanced the tray with surprising ease and scowled.

"Miranda is my daughter," the man growled. "A proper lady. If I catch you giving her even one dirty look, they'll never find your body."

Charles blinked, then gave a calm nod. "Noted."

With a grunt, the man left.

The food, thankfully, was excellent. The steak was tender and perfectly seasoned. The bread was fresh, and the pickled vegetables added just the right contrast. The beer was pleasantly bitter, thick, and topped with a rich white foam. He downed it in a single gulp and waved to Matilda for another.

This time, Miranda brought the beer herself. Charles handed her a few bronze coins and received a graceful curtsy in return. He didn't dare watch her walk away—not after that warning. He was bold, not suicidal.

As he slowly sipped his second beer, the tavern door swung open. Two large beastkin stepped inside—bear folk, judging by their height and thick, furred arms. Both wore well-used armor and swords at their hips. Their eyes swept across the room before locking onto Charles, and without hesitation, they made their way to his table.

Here we go.

Charles didn't react. He casually raised his mug for another sip, pretending not to notice them.

They stopped in front of him.

"We want to drink. So get lost."

Charles didn't respond. His eyes remained on his drink, but under the table, his left hand quietly wrapped around the hilt of his dagger.

"This ape deaf or what?"

The larger—and clearly dumber—of the two leaned forward, planting his hands on the table until he was nose to nose with Charles.

"If you're not gone before I count to three, you won't leave alive."

Charles slowly lowered his mug and raised his right hand as if to speak. Then, in one swift motion, he drew his dagger and rammed it through the big man's hand, pinning it to the table. Before the brute could scream, the cold edge of another blade touched his throat.

"Tell your friend to keep his weapons sheathed," Charles said quietly, "or you're dead before you finish blinking."

"Ghhh—Listen to him!" the bearkin groaned.

Charles gave a cold chuckle. "Good boy."

He leaned in, voice low and calm. "Now, I think we've had a little misunderstanding. I want to drink, and you need a healer. So let's let bygones be bygones."

He yanked the dagger free—not gently—and gave it a little twist on the way out. Blood gushed from the wound as the big man stumbled back, supported by his companion.

"We'll remember this, little man."

Charles grinned. "I really hope you do."

Most of the tavern barely glanced their way. Fights weren't rare in places like this. More than a few had ended with bodies dragged out the back door.

"You know those two are minor mercenaries," came a gravelly voice behind him. "Got a lot of strong friends. I'd sleep with one eye open."

Charles nearly jumped. Clovis. How did the man move so quietly?

"Thanks for the warning," he said, keeping his tone neutral.

He finished his beer and stood. He'd need a good night's rest. He needs to be ready for tomorrows city tour with Gerart.

After a good night sleep he woke early and refreshed. He took his time washing up—this time with hot water Matilda had arranged for breakfast guests. It felt amazing. He could finally scrub the grime of travel off properly. After a hearty meal of bread, eggs, and fresh milk, he sat waiting in the common room.

Gerart arrived nearly two hours later, looking slightly worse for wear.

"You're late, old man," Charles said, smirking. "Drinking last night?"

Gerart winced. "Met some old buddies. One drink led to another. Woke up fifteen minutes ago and ran straight here."

Charles chuckled. "Fair enough. Lead the way."

The tour began at the city's main gates—four in total, one for each cardinal direction. They had entered through the West Gate yesterday, which was the least used. It connected the city to the desert and, beyond that, the territories of the barbaric beastkin tribes. Few people settled near them, and trade in that direction was minimal.

Next came the guilds. The city had guilds for almost every trade and profession, from merchants to potion-makers. With limited time, Charles was told to pick a few of interest.

He chose the Blacksmiths' Guild, Armourers' Guild, Hunters' Guild, and Mercenary Guild.

"I might think of more on the way," he said. "By the way, can someone join more than one guild?"

Gerart scratched his beard. "You can, sure. But each comes with its own demands—quest quotas, annual membership fees, sometimes even loyalty contracts."

"Noted. Let's also check out the Mage Guild while we're at it."

Gerart made a face. "Tch. Mages. Arrogant pricks, most of them. You'd do well not to talk to them too much."

"I've always wondered if I have any talent for magic," Charles said. "Won't know unless I ask. But don't worry—today I just want to see the buildings. I'll think carefully before deciding anything."

Each guild was more impressive than the last.

The Hunters' Guild was covered in trophies—skulls, pelts, and preserved heads of fearsome beasts. The Blacksmiths' Guild had weapons and shields displayed outside like museum pieces, all gleaming and deadly. The Mercenary Guild featured grand mosaics of battle scenes on its stone walls—violent, colorful, and oddly beautiful.

The Mage Guild, however, was almost disappointing in contrast. Just a pristine white marble building, tall and plain, with no decoration at all.

Gerart snorted. "See? Too good to advertise. Arrogant bastards."

"Maybe," Charles said. "But we'll see."

They moved on to the library and the bank, though they only noted the locations for now. Charles planned to return on his own for a more thorough visit.

"Now," Gerart said with a grin, "I'll show you a place you'll really enjoy. Best wine, best mead, and beautiful women for every taste."

Charles didn't need to ask—he knew where they were going.

He didn't mind. The only time he'd been to a brothel was when he turned fifteen. His mentor Orsen had saved for years to give him that night. It was the best gift he ever received—and the last time he'd been with a woman. As a slave, such things had been far beyond his reach.

"Lead on."

Surprisingly, the district where the brothels were located was clean and orderly.

Gerart noticed his expression. "Surprised? Don't be. The city guard doesn't take kindly to troublemakers here. Most folks behave. At least in the center. The slums? Whole different world."

The brothel looked more like a noble estate than a pleasure house—white marble walls, flowing fountains, and erotic statues surrounding the entrance. It practically oozed wealth and elegance.

"You sure this is the right place?" Charles asked, eyeing the luxurious exterior.

"Relax. With the money I gave you for selling the bird, you can afford a night here easy."

Still, Charles couldn't help but feel a little anxious. He wasn't used to this level of extravagance.

Inside, the place was a different world.

An artificial pond sparkled in the center of the main hall, with a small waterfall pouring gently from a carved lion's mouth. Tables and lounges circled the water, plush and inviting. And the women...

They were stunning.

Humans, dwarves, beastkin, even a few orcs. All dressed in sheer robes, faces hidden behind delicate veils. Each one more enticing than the last. No elves, though. Not surprising. Elves were rare outside their own lands, and even rarer in a place like this. Proud and long-lived, those who did sell their bodies only did so for fortunes, often behind closed doors of the wealthy and powerful.

Here, no slaves were allowed. And elf courtesans were legends.

But Charles didn't dwell on that long. The women here more than made up for it. The mystery of their veils only added to their allure.

Two approached as they sat down—one with fiery red hair and a voluptuous figure, the other petite, with jet-black hair and an elegant grace.

They ordered two bottles of wine, and conversation flowed. The wine tasted like nectar, sweet and smooth, helped along by the women's laughter and gentle touches.

Soon enough, Gerart and the black-haired Alexis disappeared toward the back, her soft giggle echoing behind them.

Charles remained at the table with the red-haired beauty—Anne.

He wasn't particularly good with women, but she more than made up for it. Her voice was soft, her touch light. She whispered in his ear, brushed his arm, made him laugh. Before long, she stood, took his hand, and led him toward one of the private rooms.

Behind the closed door, she let her robe fall—and Charles simply stared, stunned. She was even more beautiful than he'd imagined.

She approached slowly, sensually, hands reaching for the laces on his shirt.

"Don't just stare," she whispered with a playful smile. "You can do whatever you want now."